Mona let her fork drop. “This omelette tastes like poop.”
Moritz clucked. “Don't say 'poop', say 'shit.' You sound like a three year old. Say 'shit' like an adult.”
“What's so grown-up about using bad words?”
“See? See? You can't even use a word like 'adult.' You say 'grown-up.' That's such a juvenile word!”
“You were the one that said I was 'ignoring my inner kid'.”
“'Denying your inner child', I said, and I was talking about your inhibitions!”
“I'm not putting the diaper on. No way, I told you to forget it.”
“Fine, if you want to stay repressed.” Moritz abandoned his own omelette and turned away from the table, arms and legs crossed.
“You're just trying to bully me into weird sex, you bully!”
“I resent your implication that I'm trying to manipulate you merely for my own sexual gratification.”
Mona rolled her eyes. She loaded her fork with egg mass and catapulted it at Moritz. “Inner child food fight! Inner child food fight!” She yelled.
Moritz ducked. “Don't be so juvenile.”
“Don't be so juvenile! Don't be so juvenile!” Mona shot a mushroom at him. “Hey, we should get a parrot.”
Moritz dusted a mushroom off his shirt front. “Purchase a parrot if you like. I'm going to pack.” He arched his eyebrows, waiting.
Mona froze, fork loaded, and said nothing. She stared at him blankly. Then she let the tomato slice fly, crying “Look out, it stains!”
With a great deal of harumpfing and huffing, Moritz placed his belongings into his suitcases and departed.
Mona wrote up her notes with a satisfied smirk on her face. “The Persistence of Sexual Perversion in Male Graduate Psychology Students” was going to get her tenured for sure. Tomorrow, she would return to the “roommate wanted” section of the pin board in the psychology department and attempt to procure a new subject. Right now, she was going to call Domino's.